Hide and Seek
by blackscarlett
Summary: An unidentified body, a young Finnish coroner, a fierce inspector and his group including one ambitious young man, a caring big brother, an assassin and a broken woman. What starts as a simple murder investigation turns into a chase after criminal mastermind, a love story and a game of life and death.
1. Wind of Change

Authors note:

Hi everyone, just thought I'd inform you this is my first fanfic ever, please have mercy on me. Also, English definitely isn't my first language and I'm not exactly fluent, so please tell me when you find mistakes in spelling, grammar etc. (Already apologising)

The story will include fem!Finland and fem!Iceland, some pairings (SuFin and maybe some DenNor) and all those things you get when you read detective stories (blood, violence, harsh language and the crimes themselves.). The first chapter is going to be a prologue and the actual storyline starts in chapter two, right after we've met our main characters. (there will be, btw., my own original characters too because I think it's quite unrealistic to have 15 different nationalities in one investigation, isn't it?) This story was originally something totally different, not a fanfic at all, so it may become a bit complicated, just tell me when that happens and I'll try to fix it. Okay, enough chatter, please read and give me a chance.

I don't own all of these characters, but some of them are mine. Tiina (fem!Finland), Berwald/Sten (Sweden), Lukas (Norway), Emilia (fem!Iceland) and Krister/Alex (Denmark) belong to Hidekazu Himaruya. Other characters are mine; I'll mention if there'll be any exceptions. (Oh, Wind of Change by Scorpions, as you surely know.)

I don't know if you like it or not, but this chapter is also going to be longer than the other ones, just warning.

_**Hide and Seek**_

**Prologue – Wind of Change**

The sun was setting fast below the horizon. Everything was coloured in bright oranges, pinks and purples. Last rays of the evening sun shone in my eyes and made me squint. In the east sky was already dark blue, almost black. I walked in the middle of the empty road that made its way across the fields. There was no one to be seen, not a single car, not a single farmer, not a single woman, man or child with dogs, the landscape was empty. And as if that wasn't enough, it was quiet too. I could hear my own shoes hitting the asphalt steadily, I could hear my breath, my heartbeat and occasionally my bag would rustle when I adjusted it little better. Birds were unnaturally quiet too. It was cold, really cold, and it wasn't even October yet. I glanced my phone and sighed, how long was it going to take until someone dro- wait, that's a car! I stepped out of black Volkswagen's way and lifted my thumb. This was fool's play, but maybe someone was nice enough to give me a ride. Well, they say that miracles still exist, and I guess I almost thanked God when I saw the car slow down and the driver roll the window down. We exchanged couple of words, and I felt even luckier when the older man opened the door of his van and told me to put my bag on the floor. He worked at construction sites and needed to be in Lund tomorrow morning. I chatted with him, mostly about weather. I didn't want to spoil this now. I was going to cross the border in time and call my boss the moment I got to Malmö. My new passport felt heavy in the pocket of my leather jacket. Except, it wasn't originally mine. It had belonged to one Aleksander Sørensen. My first job in Sweden was to get rid of him for good.

My sister had been coughing all the time since last February. Lately she had also been tired and phlegmatic. If she could, she'd sleep through her days and stop doing anything else. My mother makes horrible jokes and we all know that she can say unbelievable things. It was in July when she said: "maybe she just has a cancer in her throat, wouldn't that be cliché!" It made me quite pissed off, her attitude, but then again that was nothing new. It was only when we were together at our family's summer cottage, my sister and I, when she became nauseous. I remembered my mother's so called joke when she started to throw up something reddish and pretty dark. Luckily it was only the remains of blueberry soup. We had to wait till the next night before we got to see blood. We came back home and I told my mother. My sister was really sick all the time now, and my mother still couldn't see what was wrong. "Well, why should I know what to do with her, she's not mine anyway, go find her real mom and tell her," she said and I finally got it, she wanted to get rid of my half sister. I had just quitted my old job because of, well, that's personal. Anyway, I got couple of offers before I even started to look for a new job, and it seemed like the Swedes paid better than Norwegians, so I was going to move. I got it all planned out, but now there was this little fact: I should take my sister with me, see that she gets proper medical help and continues her education. Emilia was more than happy to hear she was moving with me, she never liked her far and "mor".* All those thoughts run through my head again when I sat in the train, my coat on my lap and my sister's head on my shoulder. Pleasant female voice announced that the train was nearing Göteborg and passengers on their way to Stockholm should change the train. I nudged my sister's ribs lightly and called her: "Emilia, wake up, we got to get off the train." She stirred and yawned, still half asleep she blinked at me couple of times before she seemed to realize who I was, where she was and what did I actually say. Her hair was a mess and there were red marks from my shirt in her cheeks, she looked adorable. After her brains had started functioning again she cracked me one of her tiny smiles and muttered: "Thanks Lukas. Feel like takeaway coffee and junk food? I'm hungry."

I was anxious, I didn't know what to do and I felt completely, utterly lost. What if he wakes up and can't find me, will he come after me? Have I forgotten something? Are there any clues for him? Can he guess where I'm going? What if he thinks it's obvious that I've decided to take a ship to Sweden and flee him; he'll surely come after me as long as I'm still in Finland. And what if he won't leave me alone at all? I was panicking, and I'm sure I looked like I had a bomb in my bag or something. I really should consider myself lucky because no one actually treated me like they would treat a terrorist. I decided to play safe and go to my cabin. It was surely the cheapest one in the whole ship, and if this pathetic boat were to sink, I would probably be the first one to die. I sat on my bed and listened the engines hum. Soon, very soon I'd be leaving my home country which I used to love, but which had also became my prison and the stage for the miserable play that was my life. But even though they say that I can stand everything and love everyone (not true, by the way. I'm just very good at hiding it) I eventually got enough and decided to seek work somewhere else after my graduation. So today I sent the divorce papers, contacted Swedish tax Administration _Skattverket _in order to get my _samordningsnummer,* _made sure all the paperwork was done, called my landlady to be and took the train to Turku. I'm sure my father will be very proud of me since he was always repeating something like: "_Odotas vaan flikka, ni näet miten käy kun nait ryssän!_"*. I of course called him racist and told him to shut up because of course my Russian wasn't like the others. Well, father was right, again, and I proved myself strong enough to leave despite "my Russian's" threats. After the ship had been moving for some time I decided it was safe enough to leave my horrible little cabin and get out to the deck. It was Friday night and I tried to ignore the noise, thick smell of alcohol and Finns drinking like no tomorrow and managed my way out. It was colder than I had imagined and sea wind blew mercilessly straight to my bones. I leaned on the railing, closed my eyes and inhaled slow and deep. I just hoped that I'd get the divorce quickly so I could be really free from my past and start a new life. The idea of spending my whole life as Mrs. Braginski was nauseating. Whatever the text in my passport said, I would introduce myself as Tiina Väinämöinen, I had decided that. For a moment, life felt good. I sighed once more, lit a cigarette and smiled.

Though there were no clouds in the sky at sea, it was raining in Stockholm, and it was raining hard. I lifted the last cardboard box from the back of the van and slammed the door shut. My lovely Olle hold the door open for me and together we took the lift to the fifth floor and stepped in our new apartment, the first one we shared. It was nice, cozy and not too big. Olle had managed to find it by accident, and once we went to see it, it was love at the first sight. The building itself was quite cheap, most apartments were rented, small and crappy in every possible way, but ours was actually made up of two smaller apartments and renovated only couple of years ago. We should do some seriously wall painting to get rid of the pale yellow walls, but that was just a detail. Or it was to me. Olle was more feminine than I, and he really got a great eye for colours and shapes, so I just let him do what he wants. There had been some big changes in line-up at work and bunch of new guys were going to start next Monday. The group I've been working with last three years didn't change anyway, and I find myself quite happy it didn't. We've grown really accustomed to each other, and of course I don't mind we do a lot of cases with Olle's department. My parents also moved out of the city, Olle's sister is pregnant, we have to find a new place to do the grocery shopping, we got new computers at work (finally, I got to say, the old ones were ancient!) and I might need new glasses. Yeah, everything is changing. I must have stared into nothingness lost in my thoughts again, since Olle started to sound a bit worried and I apparently needed a hug before I snapped out of my trance. "Robban, this is the earth callin', you hear me? Welcome home sweetheart", he said and kissed my cheek briefly. "Welcome home Olle", I answered and turned to look out of the window. Everything is changing, sure, but somehow it all feels so good.

I woke up when the stewardess came with her cart, selling chocolate, wine and toys. I bought nothing, adjusted my blanket and tried to sleep some more. It was quite dim and quiet, but sleeping had suddenly became impossible. I didn't want to spend my money on newspapers and I had already read all the airlines magazines. I felt myself little stupid for not buying a paperback from the airport, some silly book would've been just what I needed. Or then I could have bought a phrase book or something, I was on my way to land totally strange to me after all. I had strict schedule and rules, what to do and when. My boss doesn't trust people, so he'd just decided to take control over everything. I read my papers once again, even though I already know them by heart. After the plane has landed I have to hop in the bus and drive to Centralstationen, where I'll meet my colleague. After that we were to find a rented apartment, spend the night there and start driving towards the capital at 7 am. The car is waiting us in the parking lot of the house we're going to sleep in. We'd receive new instruction later, but our work will probably include a lot of waiting and just fooling around, since we'll be the first once in the city doing what we are doing. I felt a little stab of pain when I thought about the turn my life had taken. I'd never wanted any of this, and I'm quite sure my colleague is in the same situation. I feel horrible when I even think what my parents would say to me now. I feel so guilty I'd like to go running to the next police station and sing them everything I've done and everything I know, yet I can't. There are no more so much clouds and I can see the lights under us. The plane starts to lower its altitude as we're flying over some rather big city, over Copenhagen, over the sea. I've never liked flying. I was prepared, but the air still feels shockingly cold when I step out of the plane. In the bus on my way to terminal my mobile receives texts. The usual ones about the prices etc. and one I wasn't expecting. I open the multimedia message and look at the picture of a blond man with wild hair and grin. The picture is taken in a football match, I guess, and under it there's one sentence: "Time to play, Hamlet." I try to memorize the face on my way to the city.

It had started to rain around 5pm. I glanced at my watch, 3:39. Am. I was sitting in the café of the gas station, at the same table as always. It was almost in the corner of room, there were no tables behind my back and I could see the whole place clearly. I tried to eat my sandwich, cheese, salami and salad, not good at all. It had been wrapped in plastic for a day, it was the last one left, and I could really well understand why. I should probably find a 24h open grocery store and buy a pizza or something 'cause god I was hungry. I stirred my coffee, familiar clinking making me relax just a little. Oh well, I guess you just can't have everything. There was a blunt pain just above my shoulder blades. I had been driving for quite a long time now, and I still got almost an hour to go, if I was lucky and there was no traffic in Stockholm, then a little less. I just wanted to eat something (not the sandwich), go home, turn my mobile off and go to sleep. And stay in the bed until the world ends. No work, please, just no work. Usually I liked my job, I worked hard and sometimes it was almost fun, (As fun as it can possibly be when you're dealing with those things.) but lately we've been having a lot of really nauseating, strange, difficult and annoying cases. Today was a very good example of the irritating ones. Drive for eight hours to nowhere, find out the one you're looking for has returned to the capital, on your way back home answer your phone just to hear "okay, wrong info, he's in Mora at the moment", drive to another town in the middle of nowhere, find some damn summer cottage, open the door to see the murderer swinging with rope around his neck, after all that, drive over six hours back home. Thank god I have tomorrow off. Rain was hitting the windowsills, radio plays Abba, someone is cleaning the floors. I don't know if there's anything more disgusting than service station floors at small hours, sticky, stinking and dirty in every way. I drank the rest of my coffee and was just going to stand up and leave, when my phone rang in my coat pocket. It was my work phone, the one with secret number and obviously the one I didn't want to answer. I left the sandwich on the table, walked out and sighed, didn't my boss ever sleep. Sighing again I chose the green button, "Oxenstierna, you'd better be here in an instant, this one is sick! And Berwald, bring some coffee with you." he shouted and added something about fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes? That wasn't enough, "I haven't even passed-" I tried to protest but he had already cut off. "-Sollentuna yet, vad jävla slavdrivare!"* Well, I won't bring him his freaking latte, that's sure!

In an elegantly decorated room there was a man sitting on a very comfortable looking armchair. There was a cat on the floor next to his Italian designer leather shoes that had cost so much money an average working class dad would faint. His phone started playing the fifth of Beethoven and he enjoyed the music for a while before picking up the mobile. "Sir, everything is soon ready for your flight, but I was wondering would you prefer Monopol of Remy Martin tonight?" The voice was pleasant, dark and soft, definitely feminine, very professional. The man seemed to think carefully before answering: "Remy tonight- oh, damn that, Jack Daniels please, just tonight, I'm celebrating. Send Noa to pick me up in five minutes. Yes, thank you darling. Oh and wait, some pistachios would be lovely too." The line went dead and the man stood up and lifted the cat from the floor. He stared out of the big window deep in his thoughts. The cat enjoyed herself as her master stroked her ears and hummed softly, Wind of change.

* _She never liked her far and "mor". _Dad and Mom in Norwegian, obviously.

_*contacted Swedish tax Administration Skattverket in order to get my samordningsnummer _If you come from a Nordic country, you can work in another one for one year without applying citizenship, permission to work... And Tiina is citizen of Finland, so naturally she needs to do awfully little paperwork to work in Sweden.

_*_"_Odotas vaan flikka, ni näet miten käy kun nait ryssän!_" Finnish: "Just wait my girl and you'll see what happens when ya marry a Russian!" _Ryssä _is actually quite a rude name, but it's still used as often as _Venäläinen, _which isjust plain Russian without offense.

_*"-Sollentuna yet, vad jävla slavdrivare!" _Sollentuna is located north from Stockholm. Something like "what a fucking slave driver!" Oh, and if someone who speaks better Swedish than I do (not difficult) ever finds any mistakes, again, please let me know.


	2. The Body

Hello again!

Okay, I did say something about shorter chapters, right? Well I guess you just have to deal with these since I don't want to cut the storyline in too little bits. And about this chapter, there is this one thing I guess most of you won't like – The Schäfer. What can I say, I just thought that this guy would look absolutely Stunning with big, clever looking German shepherd. And yes, maybe I like breaking traditions (*writes more clichés*). I already started writing the next chapter so I may be able to post it quite soon. Many, many thanks to those of you who have shown some interest in my story, you made my day. (or more like week) So again, pay no attention to my mistakes in English or point them out so I can correct them. I still don't own all the characters, and I still wish you'll like this chapter.

Chapter 2 – The body

Tiina woke up early in the morning, so early she tried to go back to sleep, in vain. She got up and padded to her kitchen, that still looked like she had moved in yesterday, the whole little apartment did. She had been living in Sweden for three weeks, and working almost two. She was slowly getting adjusted to her new job and environment, but it surely took time. She had never been more happier just because of this little fact her mother was "finlandssvenska"* and therefore Tiina too spoke fluent Swedish. She had her accent, she spoke Swedish just like all "finlandssvenskarna", and it sounded horrible, absolutely horrible, at least that's what she thought, but without that she wouldn't be able to work on medical field in Sweden. So it would seem that everything was just fine, but there was this little problem: She didn't have any money yet. It wasn't a big problem, not at all since the payday was next Sunday, but imagine you wake up at four am, can't sleep, you're hungry and open the door of your fridge just to see that there's nothing else than one tomato, margarine and old cheese. Yes, that's the moment you feel like repeating "Voi vitun vittu, saatana, vittu, perkele!" like a mantra. You can use your imagination while translating that.

Swearing she made herself a cup of coffee, drank it black and stared out of her kitchen window to the yard. Well, at least she had time to go running in the park before she had to leave to work. When Tiina was little she used to be a little chubby kid, not much just enough to be constantly reminded of it. She was always also very sensitive, even more as a young thirteen year old girl, who hated the person in the mirror and didn't have any real, close friends to tell her it was alright and she looked just fine. She'd always been something between a princess and a total tomboy, her dad taught her how to hunt, he used to love horseback riding (in the forests, without a saddle, jumping over logs, of course, what did you expect?) and all that, but she hated competitions and team playing. So she took up running to get rid of her extra kilos, and in couple of years she was the skinniest girl in her class. She wasn't anorectic, she loved good food and chocolate, but had grown to like running, so she continued. End of the story. No admiring classmates, no worried school nurses, nothing dramatic. And what else could she do in mornings like this? Tiina put on her water and wind proof jacket and trainers. Glanced at her cigarettes on the kitchen table, sighed and run out of the door.

She dashed down the stairs her mind already wandering dangerously. She'd always been a little clumsy and running the stairs really was a bad idea. She didn't notice anything before it was too late and the shoelaces of her left trainer were steadily under her right foot. With a tiny, panicked yelp she lost her balance and started to fall forward. Tiina shut her eyes preparing herself for nasty wound in head, at least, and the unmistakable feeling of smashing against the floor. But like it too often happens in the books, movies and daydreams the pain never came. Instead of the floor her hands met solid chest that had just walked out of the door. Feeling sudden rush of shame she deemed it safe enough to open her eyes and found herself looking at black plastic framed glasses, reddish orange hair slicked back and charcoal blazer. The man had dark brown eyes that seemed to look somewhere far away, and his smile was shy, but friendly and pretty charming. And he was her downstairs neighbor called Ahlgren, Otto, Olav or something like that, she'd seen him couple of times but had only spoken to a man he lived with. The Ahlgren guy blinked once, twice and didn't seem to remember Tiina, who suddenly realized she was practically hugging him. "Oh, förlåt, didn't mean to cause you trouble or anything I'm just little clumsy and, well, yeah..." she stammered and blushed. The incident didn't seem to bother the man who just straightened his jacket and said: "That's nothing. You're lucky I managed to catch you. You must be the new one from upstairs, Robban has mentioned you." He glanced his watch and that didn't escape Tiina, but she decided it would be rude to leave without introducing herself. "Yeah, I moved here just couple of weeks ago, Tiina Väinämöinen, nice to meet you", she said and shook hands with him and he just simply stated: "Oliver Ahlgren." They descended down the stairs, not running this time and Tiina felt the need to fill the awkward silence. "So, you seriously have early wake ups if you need to be working at five am every day!" Oliver checked the time again and answered: "Well, my working hours are somewhat irregular. I don't have so many mornings this early, luckily." They came to the front door: "Okay, that's nice. Irregular hours I mean, maybe. Anyway, it was nice to meet you Oliver." Tiina smiled and thought if it was too friendly to use his first name. Oliver fished his car keys, found them and opened the door: "Yeah, and please, just Olle is fine." And he drove away. Tiina stood there in the pavement for a while and inhaled deep before she started jogging towards the park. No smoke before sport, but oh how she craved her early morning cigarette.

Oliver parked his Audi on the grass next to black BMV, new sight in their group, tip-top clean, only some papers and CDs scattered around, no wunderbaum or any air fresheners at all, no funny decorations and no stickers, in the trunk there was one old blanket. So, Berwald had finally got a replacement to his old (or more like ancient) blue Volvo. Oliver sniffed the morning air. Right now the sky was still clear. The sun hadn't risen yet, but the horizon over the sea was coloured a lighter shade of turquoise. No clouds, only the tiniest bit of wind and some frost on the ground. It was freaking cold, but surely it would get warmer and probably rainy too, again.

He walked through the peaceful, silent playground, closer to the seashore where the forensics group had already started working and one policeman tied the classic "polis/police/do not cross" tape around the trees and street lamps. Just inside the line stood a tall, lonely man in a long coat and his Schäfer lying at his feet. Olle lifted the tape and came to stand next to the stern man. "What do we have here today?" he asked, already cursing the sea wind that blew straight through his thin jacket. The tall man, Berwald was his name, said nothing for a while, then: "Unidentified man, found in the water near the rocks by an old lady about-" he shook his watch "-about one hour fifteen minutes ago. Strangled, no obvious signs of fight found yet, so probably drugged. Been in the water for days, difficult to say anything about the exact date of his death yet." Olle considered the information for a while and answered: "Okay, one hour fifteen minutes, where's everyone? And why did you bring that killing machine with you?" The dog said or did nothing to protest the insult, but Berwald looked seriously annoyed for a while, then let it go, Olle didn't come along with dogs that great, everybody knew he was afraid of big, angry looking dogs however friendly they were. "Kling sleeps, has a hangover so it's impossible to wake him up. Magge should be on his way, will take a good while, he was raiding that motorbike club's warehouse with Malmö police somewhere in Skåne." "The previous case? I thought it was closed." The taller man sighed and lifted his glasses. "Ja, but Malmö found the last one of them and also some potential drop offs." Olle nodded and started to walk towards the body and the forensics. Victim was a young man, blond hair, blue eyes, skinny but had some muscles, quite tall. He had clear bruises around his neck, the killer had big hands. No other signs of violence visible, except on his backside, so he'd been dragged to the sea, killed near the shore? Someone should check the docks. Looked like pretty normal case. Oliver nodded to Berwald, they walked to their cars and drove away.

Hours later the sun had risen just to become covered with grey clouds that hung heavy above the city. In the room furnished with big table and plain coloured curtains there were six men sitting, all looking tired, pissed off or very deep in thought. Not exactly the most jubilant group in the city. Detective Inspector Rasmus Kling, antsy man with gray hair and shade or two darker beard was tapping the table with his index finger, clearly annoyed. This case didn't make sense. Or more like, the case made sense perfectly fine, just a strangled man found in the freezing water, nothing new there but Kling couldn't see why in the hell they kept giving these dull, boring and routine-like cases to his group. For heavens sake, Kling himself was one of the best inspectors in whole freaking department and his group certainly was the most promising, all three of them so very young and so very hungry for some respect, something really complicated, something important. Their brains would rot away if all they got to do was drive around the country tracking down fools who didn't even deserve the title "criminal" and raid the belongings of Hell's Angels.

Those three men who formed his group now sat near the windows, next to each other. Olle Ahlgren, reading a newspaper, looking as groomed as always. He head some wit, this lad. Okay, maybe he lived with a man (and not just a friend, mind you) and could be considered little girly he wasn't afraid of the dirty work, well, not afraid but that didn't mean he liked it. Berwald Oxenstierna, who hated his name just sat there and stared at the wall, frowning deep in thought. Every single one Kling's boys (that's how he referred to them, his boys, since he didn't have his own kids and had grown to like his team like the family he never had.) were great at what they did, but Berwald was the one Kling had taken in his group as an afterthought. The best intuitive decision in his life if you were to ask him. Berwald had worked in some more secret, international projects before for a while, and therefore had two IDs. That's why Kling still had some troubles calling him Berwald, not Sten. His given name really caught some attention. Next to Berwald sat Magnus Sandvik, who had just returned from Skåne, and drunk his fourth cup of coffee. Magge was the reckless one and reminded Kling from his own younger self, except Magge was actually happy and cheery, not bitter and frustrated. Magge usually did the right decisions and was brave enough to work pretty independently, too independently sometimes. He and Berwald had been friends for a long time. Kling didn't know how long for sure, but he guessed they must have met each other before the age of 13, and starting from high school the two had always been in the same classes and groups. Hell, they'd even been training in the same police station. At this Kling felt the rare need to laugh as he imagined Magge and Berwald scolding drunkards, vandals and youngsters in some small Swedish town, though even Kling had to admit, those two surely looked impressive in police uniforms. He had witnessed that kind of sight only once, since both Magge and Berwald were allowed to wear casual clothing at work (actually they had to. And wanted too.) and had their own signature clothes, in Magge's case it was his well worn black leather jacket and blue jeans, Diesel, always the same model.

Another two men in the room were Karlsson, who led the search at the docks, practically invisible despite his huge size, and Lukas Bondevik, silver haired Norwegian who was one of the best ones of his field (which was finding missing people and any kinds of information.). After quite long, pretty awkward silence Kling opened his mouth to speak: "Okay, what do we got? Everyone tells us what they know, Olle and Berwald, you start." Berwald glanced at Olle sideways, and the shorter man started to repeat the facts once again. Magge, having just returned, knew next to nothing and Karlsson's findings weren't exactly surprising. "We've searched approximately one fourth of the pointed areas, and for now we've found over fifty needles, pill bottles, suspicious minigrips and so on, from five to ten suspicious enough rags maybe used in, well, something illegal, or maybe they are all just napkins, impossible to say yet. And no, we haven't even started looking around the parks. Oh and yes, some blood stains too. Everything is sent to lab. You know Kling, they'll probably love you there even more after this", the giant of a man grumbled and looked extremely frustrated. Everyone in the room knew that it was in no way possible to find the right needle or substance traces from the docks but well, maybe it was worth a try. Bondevik glanced at his papers, depressingly clean of any colour, no underlined or circled names. He was "the new, silent guy" and worked for the first time with Kling's group so no one knew what to wait for, except they said he was good. "The closest one missing in Sweden who matches the description I was given run from his girlfriend in Uppsala two weeks ago. With this information it takes time to search through all possibilities since I have to do this quite manually. His medical background or something would be helpful, any information from the mortuary would", he said in his quiet voice and then the silence fell again.

This time it took only a minute or two for Kling to start barking orders: "Okay, Bondevik, check the guy from Uppsala again, get his girlfriend's number and address. Then check other countries, start from the east, Baltics, Finland, Poland, try asking Russians. And good luck with that. Karlsson you continue searching, Ahlgren and Oxenstierna go ask if the forensics doctors have already gotten anything, I highly doubt, then Karlsson's needles etc. in the lab. Sandvik you do the Hell's Angels case's paperwork first, then go question the one who found the body and find if anyone else has anything, contact Bondevik and question the girlfriend. And Ahlgren, ask Isberg to make a statement for media with picture, if anyone has seen anything, they must contact us. Okay, that's all, go on now!" The five men stood up, everyone rushing out of the room to their own directions. Kling massaged his temples and took his migraine medicine. Out in the streets the first raindrops hit the asphalt.

A small woman stepped out of the car and walked to the hospital. She didn't have an umbrella and though she didn't have to walk for long her blond hair was soaked when she entered the hall. Her red trench coat felt unfamiliar on her shoulders and she thought she looked silly, she didn't felt comfortable in these clothes. Her high heels clicked as she walked to the desk where middle aged, tired looking woman sat fake smile plastered on her face. "Sorry, I'm looking for my uncle", she said in English and the clerk snapped her eyes towards this tiny, well-dressed foreigner. "His name is Lucas Sardeaux, I was informed that he was brought here last night. He's little psychotic and he has a schizophrenia, but he has his medicine and I just moved here so he could stay home, but he run away once again." The woman behind the desk didn't seem to even listen: "name?" she asked monotonously. "Laura Sardeaux", the little woman in red said and gave her passport to the woman, who searched something from the computer, filled two documents, gave them to Laura Sardeaux and told: "Second floor, corridor three right at your left, give this to the nurse." After that she was absorbed back into the mysterious world of the soap opera in the waiting room television.

It was all so easy, too easy. Nurse in charge was surprisingly young and nervous, probably first time with this much responsibility. She took a look at her papers and her passport and led her to Lucas Sardeaux. "You can use the wheelchair there to get him to your car, you are with a car, aren't you? He has just been given medication for his hallucinations and some sedatives, he'll be sleepy and dizzy for some hours. I suppose you have all his prescribed medicines?" the nurse asked after instructions while pulling the duvets off of the man and helping him sit up. Sardeaux the younger nodded and bowed down to talk to the man in French: "Uncle? Uncle it's Laura here, your niece. Come on, let's go home." And so Lucas Sardeaux, man with diagnosed mental health issues (Schizophrenia Simplex with notable bipolar symptoms, to be exact) was led out from the hospital by tiny woman in the red trench coat and whose passport said "Laura Olivier Sardeaux".

_*"finlandssvensk" _like you probably guess or already know Swedish is Finland's second official language and Finnish people whose mother tongue is Swedish are called "Finnish Swede" or "Finlandssvensk". That's why Swedish is contemporary in Finnish schools.

And maybe I should say I'm sorry 'bout the schäfer but I'm actually not, and if it helps you may think this story is pre-Hanatamago, as it is actually. You'll get to know Ber's German better a little later, and at least I like the dog a lot, so maybe you'll learn too. (or might be I just panick about your reaction and you think it's just okay.)


	3. Scalpels, Gazes and Fluorescent lights

Hello,

Sorry if this chapter feels a little slow. Since I'm going to (or trying to) write a love story too, I did want to concentrate on their first meeting. And you'll get some more information of our dear dead man. Just because I'm curious, If you have any guesses about him (who is he, why is he dead, etc.), please tell me, I'd love to know what do you think. I wrote this chapter in the middle of nowhere, in a little cottage, while rain hit the roof and my grandma watched Tangomarkkinat, an annual tango competition, quite a big thing here, and then added the end today at my grandma's (another one this time), listening The legend of The Eagles LP and watching the darkened garden behind the window. It's been raining for so long I can't even remember.

Chapter 3 – Scalpels, Gazes and Fluorescent Lights

At one mortuary in Stockholm Tiina was washing the instruments with antibacterial substances, different desinfectants and boiling hot water. Their patients might be dead and cold, but all kinds of bacteria would still no doubt find their meat a great place to start a colony, not to mention the stink that would follow if they'd let the flesh rot. A group of students, doctors to be, had been watching the autopsy. One girl had fainted and some looked pale to the extreme, but after all this group had been easy. Tiina herself had been assisting, she had only done a couple of post postmortems independently, all routine cases, she had just graduated from forensic medicine education program in Finland, in record time actually, and was in every way very promising but young and relatively unexperienced was still young and unexperienced. (Also in this field and in place as respected as her recent workplace everyone even a day under 30 was unbelievably young, just a kid.) This time the body was unidentified, brought in this morning by the police victim of a crime, killing or murder no one knew yet. The body was one of those to be examined ASAP, an interesting case and quite a gross one, even though it didn't seem like nothing special at first. The man had been 31 years old, and had definitely been living the best days of his life, he had been in perfect condition when alive. No problems with heart, veins, blood or lungs, normal nerves, trained brain and body, he was in good fit. No constant use of drugs, cigarettes and traces of only very little amounts of red wine. He had also taken good care of his skin, nails and hair, really a perfect example of a healthy man, he hadn't even had any STIs, what an angel. Oh yes, probably married too since there were signs of tan lines in his ring finger. They still had to take another look and do the double check since the police seemed to need every trace of information. Someone from odontologic department had x-rayed his teeth and now tried to identify the man. Of course it fit in the picture that his teeth were also perfect, no operations done, ever.

Tiina laid the last silvery shining instrument down, knife if you want to know, on the cart, covered them all with pale green cloth and walked towards the cabinets. She hummed while she arranged the retractors first, nasty looking trephines, scissors and everything else in their precise places. She then changed her vinyl gloves and laid her eyes on the steel tray containing scalpels. Tiina sighed and sat down, this was one of those things she absolutely hated. The scalpels consisted of two parts, the handle and the blade. After every operation, or actually after every cut if the patient was alive, the blades needed to be changed. She didn't even remember how many times she had cut or almost cut herself with the scalpel blades, and hell weren't they sharp! She always started with the bigger ones, the ones more difficult to change. The room looked as cold as it possibly could. It was divided from the examine room with wall, or mostly just a window, so the two rooms seemed to be one. Cabinets made of stainless steel lined one wall and next to them was a door, also made of steel, leading to the cold rooms where the bodies were kept. The operating room was even emptier, one steel table, carts for transferring the body, light stands and on the table the dead man was still lying under the white sheet. Fluorescent lamps shone their cold, bright light and the only sounds were from cooling and air conditioning systems and the scalpels clinking when they hit the tray.

Berwald and Oliver walked down the corridor, through double glass doors with sign that said "rättsmedicin", to the left and through the door with sign this time telling "kontor och information" In the small room there were four desks and behind one of them sat an old looking woman with square frameless glasses and grey hair tied in a tight bun. She smiled at them and asked in her warm voice: "Ahlgren and Oxenstierna, here you are. Who is it this time, the one from the morning?" Her name was Inga Hedman, one of the most experienced coroners in the building, nice woman and for some reason very friendly with Kling. "Yeah, have you checked him already?" Olle asked, she looked for right papers while answering: "We have had our first look, to tell you the truth I was expecting you hours ago since Kling said it was very acute. Though I wonder why. Here -" she gave Berwald a stack of papers, "-You can go see him. I operated, but you should find my assistant in the third room like always. Doctor Väinämöinen, a very promising young professional mind you." And with that she dismissed them. If you were to look someone who had loads of silent authority, Inga Hedman would be your woman.

They walked out of the room and down the corridor again. Olle eyed the papers and chuckled under his breath something about "quite a mouthful name". Just in front of the operating room number three he stopped dead on his tracks and sighed: "Fan också, the lab! What if I go ask if they've got anything, you'll manage, right?" Berwald just nodded and entered the room. It was empty, but on the other side of the glass there was someone wearing pale green outfit and mask over his/her mouth, so doctor Vaenäe- what ever found. Berwald walked through the silent room and past the body on the table. He knocked the door twice before stepping in. "Just a minute, please..." the doctor said while struggling with pretty scary looking scalpel. Finally the tool made a clicking noise and the doctor laid it down on the tray and covered them all with a cloth. Then the doctor turned to face him and even before she had removed her mask let alone opened her mouth Berwald found out he didn't quite believe he was actually awake. The girl had stunning eyes, not only were they big and clear, but they were the colour of lavender. Berwald mentally slapped himself, he was here working, not staring girls, except the fact she was a coroner made clear that she wasn't a girl but a woman. A woman who just happened to be very little, almost tiny and had round, gentle face and open expression that made him look like she was well under 20 years old. "Oxenstierna from police, I assume you're doctor-" He was very happy the doctor didn't seem to notice how dry his throat was, since she finished his sentence for him: "-Väinämöinen, yes. Sorry but you Swedes just don't seem to know how to say it. And I assume you're here for him." She glanced at the body covered with white sheet and stood up when Berwald nodded.

They walked to the table and she revealed the body. She told Berwald what they knew and confirmed him that the death was caused by lack of oxygen. Berwald found himself wondering how a woman so small could handle a body that big when he remembered that even Inga Hedman wasn't a lot bigger than this new one. Now when he came to think of it this younger woman resembled Hedman in many ways. They both had this warm aura and somewhat calming presence (Even Berwald felt like he could trust them), their hands looked the same (small, delicate, not too long fingers, plain, short nails), their very professional manner of speaking while working (and while not talking about dead people something completely else), and Berwald could almost see the same scene playing in his head when he looked at the two of them. When that happened first time with Hedman he had blushed furiously because it wasn't in any way appropriate to imagine other people's private life. (Woman coming home, opening the door and shaking her coat off. Little child running to hug his mother, who lifts her laughing kid from the floor, her husband standing at the doorway, smiling.) Berwald didn't know where these images came from. Magge would say he was being sentimental, Olle would say that these women were "motherly type" and Kling would growl that Berwald needed a wife and remind that Hedman would never accept anyone ("that damned ice queen"). Magge would then point out that Kling himself wasn't exactly a family guy either. And That would start a magnificent fight.

The doctor quitted her explanation and looked at Berwald, waiting for any other questions. He snapped out of his stupor and tried to smile apologetically. His real, genuine smiles were very rare, and everything else came out looking more like a grin, so did this one. The woman looked like she didn't know if she should be scared or feel pity for the man. Instead of those two options she just covered the body again and started to walk towards her scalpels once again all the while speaking: "I'll do the double check soon and write a new report, I can send it to whoever leads the investigation, I'll try to get the x-rays and lab tests and attach them to the report too. Do you need to know anything special? And I suppose we can take his insides out, or is there anything against it? They all seem to be in perfectly good health, I highly doubt we'll find any evidence there. And of course you can have them checked in formaldehyde..." Berwald was a little overwhelmed of all the questions and information the little woman shoot at him. "No, I don't think there's anything. You think you can send them tomorrow?" he asked and the doctor thought it for a while before asking if they were in hurry with the investigation. Berwald shrugged and said: "We can't do much before we know who he was." The woman looked at the body in the middle of the room: "I can maybe give my report and the x-rays today evening, don't know about the lab though. To whom should I send it, and do you need any copies?" Berwald gave Kling's name and the address of their department, thanked and walked away. Halfway through the room he stopped and turned around. "You can send copies? Did you say so?" he asked with a lift of his left eyebrow. The doctor laid down the scalpel and new blade once again: "yes, only to the ones within the investigation, of course. You'd like me to send one to you too?" She smiled brightly and Berwald didn't quite know what he should think about her suddenly so friendly attitude and almost stammered in his speech: "Well, yes, please, if it's not too much trouble. I'll write you the names, all to the same address, except one." "I'll need your social security numbers too, you know the formalities, I have to check you're not just lying, no offense, just protocol", she smiled, and this time she was the one who sounded like she was sorry. "Yeah, sure", Berwald mumbled and glanced at her sideways while writing.

The day went on, Tiina worked till late night with the reports, but forgot about the inspector. (If you are curious, she did think he was too tall, silent and somehow harsh even though polite, in Finland she would describe him "juro"*. And no, she was working so she didn't stop for a while to think if he was handsome or not.) When the paperwork was done she signed the reports and left. On her way she dropped them in the mailbox. Their receivers would get them with the early morning mail. When she got home and turned on the lights she remembered her fridge was still empty. Too tired to walk for two kilometers to the nearest 24h store she fell on her bed still wearing her blue cardigan and decided to buy something tomorrow. After three minutes she was asleep.

Berwald and Olle drove back to the station in silence. The guys in the lab hadn't even touched Karlsson's samples yet. Kling was happy they'd at least got something from the mortuary. Olle had fetched Robban from IT and they drove home, Berwald brought Hedman's report to Bondevik who had somehow managed to got into Russians' files of missing persons. He was going to work late but Berwald and Olle managed to get him to leave since there was new information coming in the morning. Berwald drove him home, Lukas used buses and didn't have his own car. At home Berwald ate his leftovers from yesterday and tried to read the newspaper but found it incredibly hard to concentrate. He tried sleeping without any success. Usually when he had one of these nights he would drink a glass of single malt, read a good book or listen some music, but now he just laid in his bed, staring the ceiling and being kept awake by the coroner's lilac gaze. Somewhere around 3.30 am he couldn't remember anymore, if he had invented the eyes, and if not, who they belonged to. He was tired, so tired and desperately in the need of a holiday. Finally, at 4.30 am his consciousness shut down.

*in Finland she would describe him "juro". - juro is something like serious, quiet, straightforward and not one to share his/her thoughts to others, maybe the negative ones sometimes but definitely not anything personal or philosophical. They are also usually considered stupid and not able to explain their emotions in any way. (the latter one is true and very common among Finns.)

Surprise! It's not ending yet. So, I had this mental image (No Berwald, you're not the only ones, writers have those too.) of our favourite boys drinking in the pub and having one of those discussions true masculine, young, Swedish inspectors can only have with their best friends. This scene is set one day after Berwald met Tiina for the first time.

**Chapter 3+ - Heinekken, Hockey and Brotherly Discussions**

**Starring **

**Berwald – _Who is a great fan of Frank Sinatra (and The Moody Blues)_**

**Magnus – _Who is still bitter for 6-1 (and 1995)_**

**Oliver – _Who knows how to dress for first date (or anywhere else)_**

**and**

**Julius – _Understanding old bartender_**

**Scene1**

Set in one dimly lit, anonymous bar in Stockholm. Three men are sitting at bar counter, drinking and talking. Magnus wears his leather jacket even though it's pretty warm. The air is not smoky, it is not allowed to smoke inside. What a terrible way to destroy the atmosphere. Our lads are not actually drunk, just a little bit dizzy, except maybe Magge. Contains some almost spoilers, if you haven't read the first chapter you might get surprised.

Magnus (later M) – I mean, come on, you can't say that it's okay! You just can't! It's a national shame!

Oliver (later O) – Wake up, Magge, it's just ice hockey.

M – There is no such a thing as "just ice hockey", surely you know that.

O – That's what Robban keeps saying, but I'm still not so sure. And what 6-1 are you even talking about?

Berwald (later B) – Even I know that, just saying.

M – You can't be serious Olle! You must be joking, right? Right?

O – No, I guess I'm not, just be nice and tell me, okay?

M – Okay, I'll tell you, but it's a tragedy. A sensitive man like you should have tissues at hand. In May 2011 something absolutely horrible happened in Bratislava. You know now what I'm talking about? (O shakes his head) okay, it was the repeat of 1995, remember, national shame. You got it? (O just stares M looking frustrated) God, Olle, 1995, Den glider in! 2011, 6-1! Finland fucking won Sweden! In Fucking Ice Hockey! You just have to remember Den glider in? And Finland's total domination over Sweden, six freaking one! It was a-

O – Yeah, Magge I remember now, calm down it's just ice ho-

M and half of the bar – It's not just Ice hockey! It's life! The Mighty Ice Hockey! Against Finland!

M (alone this time) – And it is a tradition to beat Finland with nice 3-2 scores or something like that but those jävla Lejonen just managed to make us look like loosers!

B – I'm with Magge in this, but we actually were loosers, we didn't win

M – You dare!

Julius (later J) – Okay boys, time to move on, no ice hockey for you, but how about something to drink?

M - Vodka with ice

O – Heinekken

B – Double

Scene 2

Magnus had managed to calm down after the vodka and some chatter about football

M – Football is meaningless. Let's talk about Ice ho-

B – No, not about that.

M – Okay then, let's discuss about boobs. Have you seen any ladies lately?

O – Ouch! That really wasn't very fun

B – Yeah sure, I don't even have time to dream. And besides, not everyone are perverted like you.

M – Sorry Olle, have you seen any great- wait what do you actually look at? And no Waldy, It's only me, you know me just that well. But I mean seriously? (silence and skeptical stares) Okay, I can start stabbing my heart open since you two are too modest. Irina just left me. (more silence and skeptical stares) Huh, I feel dazed now, did I just say that out loud? Yes i did. Olle, tell me does that mean I'm getting over it?

O – I guess it might. Just curious, how come she left you, I thought you were quite serious?

M – That's what I thought too, but you know, she met this rich and good looking Lithuanian and left me so she could be with him in her home country.

B – I thought she considered you good looking?

M – Yeah, that's what she said, but I'm not dark and delicate, exotic looking Casanova. And I don't have Rolex and BMV (B hides his Tag-Heuer and chooses not to remind M that he really could own BMV)

B – I feel your pain, friend. Julius, three times whisky with ice, let's drink for us Swedish looking Swedish men!

M – And Swedish women, that was the last time I trusted a foreigner. Oh, sorry Olle, Swedish boyfriends, let's drink for them too. (Julius brings the glasses and they drink.)

Scene 3

O – Well, Berwald i can see you're a bit distant tonight, care to share your worries?

B – Oh, it's nothing absolutely nothing. I just, erhm, lost my Best of Frank Sinatra. Yes, that's it. I hope Frans didn't eat it.

M – We know you Berwald, that was a lousy lie, and your dog would become a nuclear plant designer if you told it so, that's how well you've managed to train Frans. Really, what's wrong?

B – (deep sigh) Okay, what about the Finnish ones?

O – Sorry?

M – Finnish what? Oh no, you're not talking about the hockey, are you? 'Cause Sinatra wasn't Finnish, and neither is your dog.

B – No, I mean, like, well, Finnish women?

M – Sorry mate? Has someone took over your brain or are you serious?

B – (not really listening M) Or Finnish women who live in Sweden and have Russian ex-husband with criminal background. How bad is that?

M – Very bad.

O – Not very encouraging Magge. You mean you're actually dating someone Ber?

B – No, nothing like that. Just found this one woman and she probably won't even remember me and that'd fine, but I remembered her again today when we were making list of potential missing persons with Bondevik and we thought it would be just okay to, you know, google her since she is new in the system and all.

O – Google? You can't know all that just by googling.

B – Well, it's searching anyways...

O – How can you possibly get the access to her information if she's not missing or wanted?

B – That Bondevik is a wizard, that's how.

M – Hey wait, wait, wait! "New in the system" you said. So where did you actually find her from?

B – From the mortuary. (silence)

M – So she's also dead? I know you must be lonely Waldy, but honestly. (murderous glance from B)

O – From the mortuary? And recently? Berwald, dear, do tell me how was that Doctor impossible-to-pronounce? It's her, am I right? (B blushes slightly and nods)

B – But that's nothing. like I already said.

M – Why? Or are you just being pathetic?

B – First of all, she's just got a divorce, her name is still Braginski in the database. And she looks way too good to be single.

O – You know that doesn't make sense?

B – I don't even know her. I was planning on forgetting her before there actually is something more to forget, but that freaking ice hockey speech Magge just gave reminded me.

M – You're way too modest, just like I said. Julius, Three Vodkas with ice! Let's drink for this mysterious Finnish woman who lives in Sweden and has criminal Russian ex-husband somewhere! And for the fact I'm going to ask her out with Ber if he's not going to do it himself by the end of the month!

B – You might want to shut up Magge, I'm definitely not going to, and neither are you! And this better be your last vodka tonight.

O – Relax Ber, it'll be fine, take your time. But you know, I don't know what she likes, yet, (shocked expression on B's face) but I just thought that if we're talking about first dates in say, November, December, that navy blue knit and maybe grey shirt would look just great. And yes, do I remember right, you have dark olive coloured khakis somewhere, also you could maybe consider wearing some other jacket, not that manttel of yours, or wait, no, that's good. It's cozy looking and quite impressive, and another coat would be practically lying since you always wear that one...

*Okay, the ice hockey thing. Finland has won the World Championship only two times even though Finlands team "Leijonat" (Lions) is considered one of the "big six" ice hockey teams along with Russia, Czheck Republik, Sweden, Canada and USA. Both times the final game was played against Sweden. In 1995 The Swedes made this song Den glider in to celebrate their victory, but then Finland came and won. Whole Sweden was a mess of anger and shame. In 2011 The game started as exciting, but it quite soon became certain that Sweden was going to be beaten to the pulp. The Lion was on fire again. And the Swedes furious and ashamed, again. It's a pity that Leijonat and Tre Kronor didn't get to play against each other 2012 (even though Finland usually loses), but the Finns still managed better again.

Do tell me if you hated this little thing at the end, I feel like writing more stuff like that.


	4. The Man with a Cat

Hi Guys, you know, I found this strange thing some time ago, it's called life or something like that and it has suddenly taken over my, well, my life. No, seriously, sorry about my little "vacation", things have been happening. (Long days at work, some brain dead days just relaxing, some more long days at work, longer days at school… Oh yeah, visited Pärnu too, a nice seashore town in southern Estonia, found myself a cute waiter too which means I've rediscovered social life) But now I'm back and got loads of homework to do, essays to write and books to study so I'll probably be writing more just to avoid doing what I should be doing :D . This chapter will also be a bit shorter since I don't want to mess it up with too many viewpoints, but I'm already writing the next one.

_**Chapter 4 – The man with a cat**_

Rain. The rain covered the city like a grey curtain. The asphalt glistened and in the puddles one could see the reflections of streetlights and their yellow glow. It was dark and a bit windy, autumn had decided to really show its face. People looked like mushrooms with their umbrellas and monotonous, shapeless, black and grey clothes. There, in the middle of that practically dressed crowd tiny woman with messy blond hair looked like a rag doll in a shop full of shiny tin soldiers and porcelain beauties. She was wearing blue, ripped jeans (boyfriend style), red Dr. Martens boots and tight biker leather jacket with studs, spikes and patches. She kept her head down but one could see the earphones finding their way under her jacket. She walked fast, didn't glance around her except when she crossed the road, her hands were in her pockets. She walked with determination and knew her steps. And she didn't have an umbrella.

She shared an apartment in Södermalm, expensive location, but then again, that was all that kept the price high. The apartment was small (probably the only small one in the house inhabited by people who had more money than she could count) and messy, full of ashtrays, all kinds of rubbish, clothes and bags containing things that could get their owner jailed. She opened the door with the key that hung in a chain in her pockets and kicked her boots off. Her jacket was thrown on a chair and the woman herself fell on the sofa. There was an envelope filled with papers, receipts, instructions etc. on the small coffee table and it was addressed to "Laura Sardeaux". Next to the envelope lain a brown package and a note that said: "To be sent in the address S49". Laura lit a cigarette and sighed. She was soaked to the bone and cold. The lights weren't on and the shades blocked what little glow the streetlights could offer. Clock was ticking somewhere in the room, and a dog barked downstairs, otherwise it was as silent as in the grave. She inhaled the smoke and felt like a zombie when she got up and padded to the bathroom where she dumped her cigarette, took off her wet clothes and left them lying on the cold tile floor. Fluorescent light was flicking and it made her head ache. In the mirror she could see a woman in her twenties, delicate bones, small nose, big and a bit scared, brown eyes and smudged black makeup. She left the woman in the mirror alone, fetched all the (two) blankets she could find and tried to make herself comfortable on the sofa, and in five minutes Laura Sardeaux was asleep. Next to her on the coffee table the brown package contained an object that had all the possibilities to destroy her life.

Two hours later the door opened again and a pair of Converses landed next to the red boots. Aleksander's blond (just as messy as Laura's) hair glowed in the light that shone from the halfway open bathroom door. He walked to the kitchen and started to unpack the groceries. Beer, some more beer, bottle of wine for Laura, bottle of whiskey for both of them, cigarettes, frozen pizza, an apple and Marabou chocolate, that was what basically formed their diet at the moment. That and pasta with canned _köttbullar*_ and ketchup. He smoked a cigarette at the window, flipped through the newspaper (or more like rubbish, but _Expressen*_ was enough for him) and checked the weather forecast for the next week. It promised rain, rain and some more rain. Good, they needed the rain.

Laura was sleeping on the sofa buried under the blankets. His blanket too. He watched the pile of flesh and fabric rise and fall as she breather peacefully. They had grown close during these weeks they had spent living together. Aleks hated the situation he was in, Laura hated it just as much and this alone would have been enough to give them the mutual understanding, they only had each other. The woman, or girl as he referred to her, was quite a lot younger than he was and in many ways so helpless and alone it broke his heart. There was nothing romantic between them, he wasn't like that, nor was she. He had more like adopted her to his little sister, since he never had one, only brothers and all of them a lot younger, just little kids still, he was from her mother's first marriage. They were all noisy, energetic and lively little brats who fell from the trees and got in fights all the time, but Laura was different, fragile. Aleks couldn't understand why the boss had decided to choose her. Of course her abilities were perfect for their "job" but her psyche wasn't built to take the pressure as heavy as she was experiencing. She had already been on the verge of splitting into pieces when Aleks had met her the first time, and now she had practically broken down. He wanted to help her out, but god he was tired and he didn't even have a clue if it was possible at all to leave the game now when it had already begun. Sighing he lifted the blankets and wrapped his arms around her. She mumbled him a sleepy goodnight and clenched his shirt into her tiny, strong fists.

If you were to ask him in person, Hugo would say he was a man who enjoyed life's simple pleasures. Just simple little things like expensive X.O. cognac, his private airplane, glamorous women and limousine drives with them (models, actors, politicians, prostitutes), Italian men's fashion, German cars and the company of his Norwegian forest cat. Yes, you heard right, not a Siamese, Persian or Sfinx, but just an ordinary Norwegian forest cat. The said cat was playing at his feet as he read the contract for the third time. Then he signed it and gave the copy of the paper and a dashing white smile to a huge man clad in leather mc vest standing in front of his antique desk. The man didn't return the smile before he dismissed himself and left. In the office this man of simple pleasures ordered the limousine to his club and lifted the cat to his lap. He scratched the back of her ears and pressed his face to the soft, silk like fur. He was smiling as he spoke quietly to his cat: "Oh Diesel, do you see how well this is going? They just don't seem to realize how foolish they are. And you know what, Diesel? I love foolish people!" Silent laughter.

_*that and canned köttbullar – _basically canned meatballs

_*_ _but Expressen was enough for him – _Expressen is an evening tabloid newspaper in Sweden which you know if you're familiar with Swedish crime stories. Expressen's competitor is called Aftonbladet.


	5. The Wake-up

Hello guys, it's been a while again, sorry 'bout that. Been melting my brain with studies and getting exhausted in general, but c'est la vie. Also, anyone who's familiar with writing scripts for theatre/musicals, if you have any advice feel free to give me some, I just got myself a very interesting project to write.

**Chapter 5 – The wake-up**

He was just starting to leave, the clock on the wall ticked steadily towards 00.30 am and the fifth floor of the building was dark and isolated, only his computer's screen illuminated the wide, open room full of steel, glass, plastic, computers and all sorts of equipment. He was shutting down the programs and windows when something caught his eye at Denmark's missing-files. It had been days now with no clues at all, nothing to use, but this might be something. He saved the files and printed them in record time. On his way to the coffeemaker Lukas called to Emilia. She was okay, yes brother, there's food in the fridge, see you later then, don't wait me up, yes brother, I won't, no, yeah, bye then, sleep well. He clicked the super expensive hi-tech Moccamaster (the IT boys had bought it themselves 'cause fuck, the one they were given was under their standards.) with the speed only someone working night shifts either in police forces or emergency hospitals could be capable of. The scent of coffee had just started to fill the room when he made his first call.

Rasmus Kling was an impressive looking man. He was often judged wrong because of his easily irritated, impulsive and moody behavior, blackish beard, huge wide shoulders and rumbling voice. He was a loner, a bit of an eccentric, and he surely wasn't happy to wake up in the middle of the night. However, all his grogginess disappeared the second he heard Lukas' news. Stockholm at night was quiet but not deadly so, the city was big enough not to ever sleep. Kling had already started to get an uncomfortable feeling of cluelessness. The man's DNA or fingerprints weren't in any of their registers, no one matching was missing. The life and death of the man were like a vast wasteland covered in fog, they had a hunch of where to go but nothing to help them to navigate, and now, now they may have seen a glimpse of the northern star. Kling dressed himself up hastily, he forgot his tie and there was a stain of coffee on his shirt sleeve (which he'd never have missed were he a bit more awake). He didn't comb his hair, lock his door or take gloves with him. He drove through the city, through the forest of concrete and yellow lights, his cold, grey eyes scanned what little traffic there was and with the smallest of smiles he let the engine of his silvery Lexus roar. He closed the doors of his vehicle the moment Berwald's BMV drove into the almost empty parking hall. Olle stepped out of the said car seconds before Berwald, looking pretty charming with his ginger bedhead. The taller detective again, he looked like he hadn't slept a minute, which was probably the situation, it wasn't so terribly late yet in his standards after all.

The three men walked inside the police headquarters, huge complex that practically filled the whole block. They didn't say a word, just nodded as a hello, it was quiet except some yawns and nervous shifting. The building wasn't completely empty, on their way to the elevators they passed the doors to the traffic police department, there were lights on in the common room and two policemen chatting and eating their (trans fat and carbohydrates) midnight lunch. An Asian cleaning lady scrubbed the corridors and a secretary returned to fetch some documents. The elevator hummed back downstairs from some upper floor, they stepped in and took the ride to their own floor (aka våld, dråp och mord, which just sounded cool, or sometimes skjut, gräv och tig department*). Kling and Berwald stayed where they were while Olle fetched the file of the case "The model citizen". The silence was broken by Berwald's phone, the shrilling noise making them startle. The steel doors closed again and he answered the call. "Hej – ja, ja – nu – vi är här – visst – snart – hejdå." Olle raised an eyebrow and Berwald said, "Magge, he's on his way." Kling shook his head and Olle gave something like a small, frustrated smile, Berwald did nothing. Moments like these they really resembled a some kind of a cracked family. Kling och hans pojkar*, like some used to call them. They would just laugh and act careless, but for real they all knew it mattered. For real.

To anyone who hasn't spent decades, years at least, intensively with computers the IT and statistics floor looked like a labyrinth of fragile, strange machines and boxes with colorful lights and cables, wires and all the stuff. A couple of lights were on near the far end corner of the room and they could hear the computers humming and someone typing furiously. They strode to the blond man who sat in front of the screens like a pilot in a spaceship, he hadn't noticed the three of them at all. Were someone to take a picture now, it could look like straight from some science-fiction movie. Three men striding down the corridor lined with computers and whatever treasures the IT boys had there. Kling in the middle (he now had the shimmer of excitement in his eyes – a clue! However dull or stiff, he still had the inner little boy somewhere), Olle on his right side dressed to kill as always, despite the bedhead, and on the other side Berwald with his stoic posture, towering with all his height and floating mantel. Sure thing they never knew it themselves, neither would they admit it, but they were a group that didn't just work together great, but also kept the quality high when it came to looks.

Lukas Bondevik finally heard the heavy steps and let his eyes leave the screen for a moment. He had been working in Stockholm for while now, but nobody really knew a lot about him. He was a lonely wolf, but it seemed to because of his own will. His face was motionless, even more than Berwald's, a lot more to be exact; he didn't seem to have any clearly positive expressions at all. He was Norwegian and still had some problems with Swedish language, though nobody ever dared to mention it. And after all, he was doing fine He worked in IT and his special field was something like online sniffing around. Rumors were, that he just happened to have a monstrously large connections network, worked as an undercover agent for the Americans or had some criminal ways of getting his information. He worked long hours, didn't have a car and never seemed to eat anything for real (just coffee and sometimes white bread with nutella). What they didn't know was that he had a little sister, hated his Albanian neighbor to no end, had actually quite a rich family and would therefore get a considerable inheritance someday. And his sister was practically the only one who knew of his preferences when it came down to dating, but that's an entirely different story.

"So, Bondevik, What have you found?" Kling questioned the IT professional. Lukas stared at them blankly for a moment before answering, "A missing person?" Kling's death glare fell upon the younger man in unison with Berwald's. "Okej, okej, ta det lugnt*. A missing person from Denmark, 31 years old, married, two children, both parents alive, close with his sister, worked as a consultant for quite a global company so he travels a lot, mostly Nordic countries nowadays. He was reported missing yesterday, or day before that actually, so Thursday eleventh of October, since today's already Saturday." Berwald shifted a bit and adjusted his glasses before said, "two days, that's not exactly much, no one reports a 31 year old man missing if he's been away for two days." Olle nodded approvingly but didn't look so sure, "True, but you wouldn't have called in the middle of the night if there wasn't something else. What's his name by the way, you didn't tell?" "Aleksander Sørensen, his wife assures that her husband is an angel and has never disappeared. And they're both very religious. That, and the description fits perfectly, even the height is exactly the same, his company hasn't heard anything after he checked in at Helsinki-Vantaa Airport, but he's credit card has been used often after that. In Stockholm mostly." Silence fell over them after the words had quieted down; the only sound was Kling scratching his beard. Lukas took the responsibility of the conversation again, "You should probably check him out, he has to be in the city, i can ask for a picture and i printed you the report and description, it's quite a wide one and even has his-" the doors slammed open and Magge rushed into the room with takeaway coffee in hand. Lukas' expression didn't change a bit, he only lifted his left eyebrow the tiniest bit and continued "what i was saying, you should check the mortuary, they still have the body as a whole, the description has even the number and places of his moles" He had been talking very quietly all the time so Magge's next words sounded like an explosion in their ears and even though Berwald stood many meters from him, he got the most of the effect, "Well then, boss, I don't know what's going on at all, I have no idea, I'll just do what I'm told to do, but Berwald should really take care of the mortuary, he's good with the doc- the deceased, yeah, the deceased", the grin on his face was unmistakable. (Magnus-has-a-plan,-Magnus-is-da-master, that kind of a grin) Kling was scratching his beard again, a good thing since it usually meant he was thinking. He had fixed his stare at packet of copying paper on the floor and there was a slight wrinkle on his forehead. His hand stopped but stayed in his beard, after a moment he shook his head and slammed his hands on the table. "Okay boys, this is what we're going to do now. Olle, you go check all the places his credit card leads, take photos, ask the personnel, make a map, use your brain, we got to know his current territory. Berwald you'll check the mortuary, now would be good. And Magge, if the description fits you'll go pack what little you need and take the next flight to Denmark and go see the police there, question the wife and all that jazz. The Swedish commonwealth pays your ticket. So boys, drink coffee, remember the nice number night shifts add in your paycheck and good luck, we'll meet 1 pm tomorrow, today, however."

The first reaction was silence, then came the complaints that died the second they left their owners lips, then the silence again. The last part was the sighs. They all knew this was their job, deal with it or leave. They knew that complaining or sighing loud as a protest wouldn't change anything, they were just childish actions provoked by fatigue. Kling and Magge left the same time, Kling to wake up his boss and Magge to find some more coffee and pack an overnight bag. The two men left behind were going to leave too when Lukas spoke again, "Hey Oxenstierna, wait a moment! I could ask someone to try to get her number." Berwald looked a bit dumbfounded and only managed to let out a small, perplexed "Vad?" Olle was already walking towards the elevators with, "I'll ask Magge to drive me home, bye!" Lukas stared the detective in disbelief, "The number, the doctor we searched, mortuary, body, moles? Remember? She's the only one who could be kind enough to show you some rotting corpse in the middle of Friday night. I'll find her number for you, okay?" The tall detective finally got his head around the words and snapped back to reality, though still looking a bit out of it. The Norwegian sighed and started to type, "May take a while, get a nap, you need it."

Berwald spotted an old sofa near the small kitchen and laid himself down. Now when he thought about it, he really was tired. He wasn't really one for sleeping and he had no idea why, he just couldn't sleep very well, especially not at home. He took off his glasses and watched the world blur in his eyes. The lights from the street cast long shadows that painted the roof with ghostly figures and damp colours. He sighed, yawned, turned his back to the world and fell in light sleep. At the same time on the other side of the world someone chatted with his Norwegian friend and infiltrated successfully the database of one Swedish tele operator. For a moment, the night calmed down.

_*skjut gräv och tig_ – department – Something like Shoot, bury and stay silent. Originally used here by poachers.

_*Kling och hans pojkar_ – Kling and his boys, obviously

_*Ta det lugnt_ – Take it easy


	6. Who is he?

Oh my, oh my, doesn't the time go by quickly... First of all, sorry this took me so long. It has been sitting almost ready on my laptop for months or so, but it just didn't feel right. So, I've been writing and deleting and rewriting and deleting and the story goes on. and I'm still not sure 'bout it, but i hope it's just 'cause I've been staring at this for waaay too long. In any case, I'll leave you reading for now, hope you'll like it, I always appreciate a good review, and also merry christmas to everyone.

**Chapter 6 – Who is he?**

Your life can be over in seconds.

She was cold. Humidity infiltrated her, lurked into every cell in her body through every pore. She could feel the air transforming into water on her skin. Cool, damp pearls that made shivers run down her spine. She was driving through the eternity. The radio was on, but she couldn't hear a note, not a single melody. It was all oh so quiet, all oh so calm, still. She had no idea where she was coming from and where she was going to. It all felt a bit messy, and still it seemed so crystal clear. Her feet got stuck in the ground, her feet were glued, but the car was free and sped forwards easily, lightly, with no effort at all. The radio seemed to play her life. Backwards, backwards, backwards – all the way to the first dividing cell, and forwards, forwards, forwards – back to the present and all over again. It all seemed so strange, like straight from a poem, straight from some masterpiece written by Claes Andersson, first imagined decades ago. Mörkrets klärhet?* The brightness of the dark? Doesn't make much sense, so it must be right. If you haven't experienced 3.40am summer night in Finland, you can't probably imagine it either. You can try if you want. Close your eyes. No, not your _eyes, _but your eyes, the ones that look into words you can't quite understand, the ones that explain all the mysteries of those poems you can't quite fathom. And suddenly you find yourself crying in the corner. That's what happens when a human being abandons all the hope in system, people, in mind, mysteries and existence. All this because of the eyes that translate all the subtle curves of ink on paper into words that somehow make sense. Everything clicks and becomes so savagely beautiful that there is no more room for such mundane things like hope. Close your eyes.

She was driving through the eternity, or so it seemed. The road cut through the fields and forests, all in their brightest green of midsummer. It was impossible to say if there were clouds on the sky or not, the fog lingered everywhere, on every piece of field or meadow. Dew tackled in spider webs, a lonely cuckoo sang its hollow song and everything was so quiet it hurt. She opened the window, let the humidity, coldness, stillness and fear flow into her nostrils. She had no idea why, but she didn't like these early mornings. It was, like they said, sudenhetki, the hour of the wolf*. Everything was dampened with that strange blueish hue, the world set turquoise filters in front of our eyes.

Then it all became strange, so strange. Screaming of the breaks. There was an elk on the road, nothing new, that happened all the time. Except the elk usually didn't have tiny candles hanging from its antlers and eyes so deep they looked straight into your soul. Except the elk usually weren't haunted by a sudden regiment of soviets from 1940's, crossing the road, running to the forest with their machine guns swinging. Except the last one of the soldiers of the red army never just suddenly stopped in his track, in the middle of the road. Turned his head to look straight at you, like a child who had just lost his teddy bear. Smiled a bit, a sad smile, bearing memories of home, childhood and happiness.

The soldier should never have lifted his Kalashnikov. He should never have done that. Never lifted his Kalashnikov, smiled for the last time, and with quiet, calming: "_proshchayte, tovarishch_"* fired a shot that invaded the soft tissues of your brain. "_Proshchayte, tovarishch_," and there was a neat hole between your eyes. But where did all the blood disappear?

Your life can be over in seconds.

Everything can end any moment from now to eternity.

Proschayte,

Tovarishch.

прощайте, товарищ

The scream continued after the dream was already gone. Wide, panicked lavender eyes stared, and when the scream dried and vanished away they started to rapidly look for the traces of blood, heavy footprints or smoking gun. (why did he fire only one shot when he had a Kalashnikov? You never know what the Russians have in their minds.) She was already checking her pulse, breathing, and imagined injuries when she realized her phone was ringing on the bedside table. She eyed it suspiciously for a moment, but decided to take the risk. "Hej? Vem är det?"* The sweat dried on her skin, lurked into every cell in her body through every pore, backwards, backwards, backwards. She was cold.

On the other end of the line a deep, low voice answered, "Hej, det är Berw- nej, förlåt, Oxenstierna från Stockholm polis." For a moment panic got the hold of Tiina before she remembered who she actually was and where she worked. But Oxenstierna... Oxenstierna from Stockholm Police, who the hell – oh, the tall one in skäggmannen's group*, yes! "Inspektör Oxenstierna? Från Skäggmannens grup?" There was a long pause before an amused "Skäggmannen? Vem är Skäggmann, Kling?" Only when there was a silent, hold-back laughter did Tiina realize her mistake. "Oh nej, nej! Förlåt jag bara inte mindes hans namn, förlåt! Jag skulle inte ha sade det, jag för riktigt borde inte, det var en olycka!"* she panicked for a good while before the inspector interrupted her litany.

Berwald struggled against the laughter for a good while, good grace that doctor and her rambling, she was just too precious. And "Skäggmann", he'd definitely start using that name just to annoy Kling who was extremely proud of his black beard. Then, he actually realized what he'd been thinking, precious, well, sure he meant it in a friendly way, not in some creepy, stalkish way. And absolutely not in "blushing schoolboy who's got a crush" way. Eventually she calmed down and he got his choices of words sorted out. She said she needed a bit of a fresh air and coffee to wake up, he offered to pick her up and drive her to mortuary. Finally they decided that she'd walk to the nearby 24/7 kiosk and he'd meet her there. After Berwald had been staring his phone for a minute or two Bondevik dragged him back to the reality, "I told you she'd do it." Berwald kept up his stony, unreadable expression, "Do what? Her Job? I'm a police, basically that means she has to." Bondevik gave one of his infamous eyebrow lifts, this one saying I-hope-you're-trying-to-be-funny. Berwald snatched the documents the younger man had printed and after a quick, stern glare turned to leave. He didn't say a word when Bondevik casually dropped, "Like you'd have a heart to use your authority towards her. Put yourself together, Oxenstierna." There was a soft "bling" and the steel doors opened. What Berwald saw when he stepped in the elevator was his own, blushing face in the mirror.

When Berwald parked his BMW in front of small kiosk Tiina was already there. He saw her chatting with an Arabian looking cashier, they were both smiling and seemed to enjoy each other's company. Suddenly Berwald had an impulse to raid the place and come up with some nice, humiliating charge for the cashier. And even better if he was the owner too. Of course he shouldn't do it, and he wasn't going to, but oh how he'd enjoy it. Instead of sabotaging the immigrant's business he just stepped out of his car and strode to the kiosk. Tiina startled a bit when the huge and very pissed of looking man walked to the coffee machine. It took a couple of seconds from her to recognize it was the same shy inspector she had met at the mortuary, the low voice in the phone. Somehow he just didn't fit in the small room full of shelves loaded with all kinds of colourful packages. In this cosy kiosk that welcomed its visitors with a strong smell of coffee and those god damned awful flicking fluorescent lights that seemed to invade every single place in the country. "oh, hej! So you got some news finally?" "Ja. Bondevik found him. Maybe", he didn't even lift his eyes from the cardboard takeaway coffee cup that was already halfway filled. The Arabic looked a bit dumbfounded and smiled a wide confused smile. "So, Tiina, care to introduce your friend?" he asked. Berwald set the coffee down to the counter before paying any attention to the cashier, "Inspector Östergård from Stockholm police. One coffee, thank you." The man behind the counter looked up at the cold eyes, down at the coffee, and then somewhere in between where the young woman smiled apologetically. He gulped and said, "One fifty, please. There's nothing wrong with my kiosk. All is legal, no problems with the police." Berwald dropped the coins onto the counter, took his coffee and on his way out said, "it's none of my concern, but I'll make sure someone will check your doings here." Tiina stood there puzzled and her eyes darted between the inspector and the cashier for a moment before she walked out and mouthed a quiet "Sorry."

The drive to the mortuary started silent. Berwald himself enjoyed the quietness and peace of nights like this, driving a lovely, smooth car, listening to some good music, not much thinking but just resting for a while. For a moment he just simply forgot his passenger and remembered her again the second he noticed he was humming the current song from the record, and to his relief he managed to turn it into a dry cough before Tiina noticed anything. After that the silence continued for the half of the fifteen minute drive, but now not as comfortable. At least not for Berwald, who had remembered the Arabian kiosk-keeper again. He had never been very comfortable with starting discussions and being himself the same time. Then how could he work as a police if he couldn't have proper talks with people, you may wonder. Well, he had a trick that made him a great interrogator, simple and elegant: he just put up a mask and became practically a whole different person, he was almost acting. During his life he had developed a habit of building a wall to protect himself and to give a little shade from the glow. From behind that wall he could act in any way he needed to. But now, now it seemed that this young doctor had once again taken all his bricks and left him unprotected, with nothing to build a wall with. That was her way to make people talk, however involuntarily or not; she just gave them no option.

When they passed Shell Solna he mustered all the courage he could, and asked, "So, you live in Sundbyberg? Why there and not nearer the Institut?" Tiina fiddled with the strap of her backbag and thought for a moment, "Well it's a lot cheaper than in Stockholm and I didn't want to end up in Rinkeby-Kista*. And the place happened to be free; I needed it as quick as possible." "Why to hurry?" Berwald asked. It wasn't the most logical explanation, she could have started searching an apartment sooner and sure she got some savings, she was a doctor anyway. "Hurry? Well, I chose my future hometown and country only when I absolutely had to. It was kind of an impulse, I needed to change the scenery I guess. Personal reasons", she said, trying to give the inspector a satisfying answer and threw him with a question to change the subject a bit, "I guess you're living in some better borough than my Råsunda, then?" Berwald nodded briefly. He didn't like telling people anything personal, he just wanted to listen what they got to say, but maybe it wouldn't hurt to make an exception. "Ja, in Söderort, Västertorp"* Tiina let out the smallest of laughters, "I have no idea where that is, except it's somewhere south." He couldn't help the smile that lightened his face for a second, normally he wouldn't have smiled and normally he would've dropped the subject, but he had already started with the exceptions, "It's a part of Hägersten, between Mälaren and E4/E20 to Södertälje"*. Tiina thought for a moment before she got a hold of the place, "Oh yeah, Hägersten, as like in Hägersten-Liljeholmen! That must be a nice place to live in. You got T-Bana there?" And suddenly Berwald realized he had actually answered her question and already gave her one in change before he even knew it himself. Though why not, what bad would it do to have a polite chat every now and then, he could consider it as practice and she clearly was a talkative woman, they could just as well waste some minutes talking. After all, the scenery wasn't the most interesting in the world and he couldn't just start asking a woman strange questions about Arabian strangers out of blue, now could he.

When they arrived to the gates Tiina realized it was more or less midnight and there wouldn't be any way for them to get in unless they called Hedman or someone even higher up. She hadn't made that call and it suddenly popped into her mind that maybe she was supposed to take care of it. Maybe the inspector was there just to prove someone that she was unprofessional brat. Damn she knew the older doctors didn't trust her. Or maybe this was some nasty trick to test her, maybe she had done something to raise Säpo's interests. Maybe it was Ivan, maybe she now had SVR behind her because she had gotten some classified information and had fled their grasp. Supo, maybe? Did Ivan try to use her as his tool?* Maybe she read too much detective stories and panicked easily, yes, but what if? God bless, she just knew there was something bit strange in that Oxenstierna! Only when she to her surprise saw two guards and a doberman walk to them and the inspector roll down the window did she really consider some realistic option. The other guard, with a long black ponytail and a tattoo on his neck, came to the car and asked, "You called?" The inspector nodded, and the guard asked for papers, "Östergård, Sten, jaso, I remember your name now. And who's the miss with you?" Tiina stared at the man for a moment before diving through her bag in search for driving license and pass that showed her position as a doctor. The guard took a lot longer look at her papers than he did at the inspector's, and finally after strict scrutiny they were handed back the documents and let in.

The place was dark and seemed very much abandoned, the quietness of the night surrounded the buildings and small green areas between them. Berwald parked his car smoothly, right under the sign that very clearly said "no parking". For a moment they sat there before getting out in the cold without a word spoken between them. They started walking towards a smallish glass door behind the building made from red brick. Wind blew dead leaves on the asphalt; they rustled quietly, like sighing. What a magnificent summer they had behind them, those leaves, and what a horrible winter ahead. When the spring came, there wouldn't be a trace of them left. After all, Tiina thought, what is it that makesus human different from those leaves? Is there such a thing at all? We are so much the same, pushed forward by the same cold and cruel wind blowing from the sea.

A sudden bark of a dog woke her up from her thoughts with a jump. Behind them there was the same black haired guard that had let them in. Cold sweat started to find it's way through her skin again, she knew, she just knew, there's always a dog buried somewhere like they said back home.* When she turned around all the colour fell from her face, the dog was running straight to them, and the guard followed behind. This dog wasn't the same black Doberman that had been with guards at the gate, this one was huge, really enormous german shepherd with loud bark, sharp teeth, eyes like black pits. This was a dog from hell, and it was running straight towards her. In a blick of an eye she felt the large paws on her chest and she fell to the ground (why was it always her part to be the clumsy girl that tripped over her shoelaces and got attacked by merciless dogs?!). Before she even really realized the dog was sniffing her face and right after she had started her last prayer the dog was _actually_ licking her face. Not tearing it apart, not taking a tasty bite of her cheek or jaw or neck, not staring at her madly, but actually wagging its tail and licking her face! She was, to put it mildly, dumbfounded. Somewhere she heard someone apologizing and wondering how could a mere dog escape him like that, someone answering something very short and very dry, the first one backing off apologetically. Then a strict order, "Franz, behave, now!" and the dog was gone possibly even quicker it had arrived. When Tiina opened her eyes and looked up she was staring into two pairs of eyes. Ones were sea blue and half hidden behind glasses, emotionless, and very high up, another ones were dark, almost black, happy dog eyes. Franz. The dog from hell. That inspector had that kind of a dog? Really? Almost too suitable for a man like that to have a schäfer that could scare the shit out of anyone. Speak of which, that said man was still staring her with his strange stern eyes. But on a second thought, where she had a moment ago seen only an emotionless glare, was now a small glint, the smallest of gleams. A laughter that disappeared before she even had time to make sure what she was seeing. He took a one step forward and reached out a hand for her. With a bit of suspicion Tiina took it and was quite practically flung back to her feet. They still didn't say a word.

That was when it hit her. Something that had been nagging in her head for a good while now. She strained her memory and returned to weeks long details. There was no way she could have been mistaken. All the times she had been a bit too busy to pay attention and bit too caught up in something else to notice, how could she possibly have missed that? There was something that didn't make sense now, another dead dog six feet under. She was going to think it all over again but the question fell out from her mouth right there and then, wide eyed, quickly said, with no warning, "Sten Östergård, who is he?"

So, here you are, finally. Oh and the thing with Ber's, hmm, alter ego, and Tiina's secret service conspiracy theories are here 'cause of my dear reviewer's sufin fic that was absolutely great AU I first read around the same time I had just started writing Hide and Seek. Her portrayal of Sweden is one of the best I've ever seen, and before I even noticed I had kinda made a cameo of her Sve into this chapter... :D Well, I decided to leave it here, hopefully it doesn't bother any of you. And most importantly, her nick here is witchfingers and the fic is titled Stockholm at night, if you are in need of some damn sexy Sweden, equally cool Fem!Fin, and an adorable oneshot storyline, what are you still here for, go read it :).

_*The hour of the wolf_ – I guess everybody knows what that means, the time from 3am to 5am. In Finland in summer it's also the darkest and coldest moment just before the dawn, usually misty, calm, not actually dark but more like dusk and hauntingly beautiful. The wind dies down and lakes are like mirrors with mist lingering above them. It's commonly thought to be the moment people are at their weakest, and die the most easily.

_*masterpiece written by Claes Andersson, first imagined decades ago. Mörkrets klärhet_? – Claes Andersson is Finlandssvensk poet, one of my absolute favourites and Mörkets Klärhet (The brightness of the dark, or so) one of his books. Too bad I've never found any of his works translated in English, I can read them in both Swedish and Finnish but won't do much good to spread the word in fic written in English :D

_*"proshchayte, tovarishch"-_ "Farewell, comrade" in Russian

_*"Hej? Vem är det?"_ – "Hello? Who is it?" in Swedish

_*in Skäggmannen's group_ – Skäggmann is "The Beard-man" in Swedish

_*"Oh nej, nej! Förlåt jag bara inte mindes hans namn, förlåt! Jag skulle inte ha sade det, jag för riktigt borde inte, det var en olycka!"_ - "Oh no, no! I'm sorry, I just couldn't remember his name, I'm sorry! I wasn't going to say it, I really shouldn't have, it was an accident!"

_*Rinkeby-Kista_ – A borough in Stockholm, not the safest and most peaceful, a lot of immigrants. (and note that I in No way believe that every borough with lots of immigrants is like that.)

_* "Ja, in Söderort, Västertorp"_ – Söderort means the southern side of Stockholm, and Västertorp is one of the boroughs there that belongs to Hägersten-Liljeholmen area.

_*between Mälaren and E4/E20 to Södertälje"_ – Mälaren is a lake, partly in Stockholm, E4 and E20 motorways and Södertälje a nearby city

*okay, so _SVR_ = Russian secret service, _Säpö_ is the same in Sweden and _Supo_ in Finland.

_*,there's always a dog buried somewhere like they said back home._ – I honestly have no idea if English language has any proverb similar to that one, we have quite impossible ones here. Anyways, "Koira haudattuna", practically "A dog buried" means there's "jotain mätää" something practically rotten, but more like wrong, ill, hidden, not quite right here.


End file.
